


A nameless affair

by Mallorn



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Porn with Politics, Tarkin POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-19 09:40:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20207635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mallorn/pseuds/Mallorn
Summary: At a high-level meeting on a planet adjacent to the Seswenna sector, Tarkin meets an old acquaintance. Her presence is an unexpected pleasure – if only he could recall her name. Or, on second thought, what does a name matter, when there is so much else to remember?





	A nameless affair

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back with another Tarkin story (who'd have thought?), brought to you with many thanks to my excellent beta Cassandra1!  
Enjoy!

Tarkin is reluctant at first to heed the invitation from an unknown governor of an insignificant planet, but as the construction seems to proceed steadily enough, he decides that it could be left under Krennic’s supervision for a couple of days. The matter at hand proves much more interesting than he could imagine, as does the company.

“If I understand you correctly, Governor,” he tells the woman across the table, “you are looking into the possible transfer of your planet from its current oversector and into the adjacent Seswenna sector.”

“That is correct, Grand Moff.”

She meets his gaze unblinkingly, in itself an interesting feat. There’s also something distinctly familiar about her appearance, although he fails to put his finger on it.

“This would place you under my control,” he says slowly, treading water as he examines her features, “which is no doubt the intent of such an endeavour. To what effect?”

“Better protection against pirates would be the immediate outcome the planetary council expects.”

She gestures towards her companions and he casts a cursory glance around the table, where most of the council members suddenly seem occupied by something on the table, or behind him. This is the effect he usually has on an audience and he takes a moment to savour it before responding.

“You could achieve the same by requesting a larger Imperial garrison.”

“Agreed, it just appears that Seswenna’s oversector governor has better access to our Emperor’s ear than does ours.”

He nods. “As true as it may be, I suspect this is not the only reason for your appeal.”

“You are ever perceptive, just as I recall.” She smiles quickly, then casts a glance at notes he doubts she needs. She speaks with the confidence and pathos of someone who is both well-informed and cares deeply about the situation. “There is also the matter of the economy. Eriadu has flourished ever since you assumed the governorship, and the positive development now envelops the entire sector.”

Now he sees it – her lower, furthest left incisor is crooked, positioned nearly sideways. This imperfection was always dear to him, although it used to annoy her. “All is not as simple as you seem to think,” he warns her. His mind is already overflowing with memories that have absolutely no place at a professional meeting. “There are still pockets of resistance.” Would she resist him?

“Exactly,” she says. “Pockets, meaning something comparatively small and controllable. Full harmony is utopian, that I know. What we hope for is peace and order.”

He’s taken aback by her last statement. There must be more to it, something she isn’t saying. For now, he banishes those other thoughts to the back of his mind. The situation is intriguing enough as it is, without the added complication of personal concerns. “The Empire already provides both peace and order to its loyal citizens.” He emphasizes the adjective automatically. What is it she’s hiding?

“We have good people here,” she says and sweeps a strand of hair behind her ear. “There is no reason to insult us by sounding so suspicious. We have useful resources and could do great things if permitted.”

He nods, but remains silent.

“I’ve fought hard against corruption,” she continues, “and I’ve stopped the leaking of public funds into private pockets, but there’s only so much that can be done on the planetary level.” She clasps her hands and leans over the table. “What good are our efforts if we cannot reap the fruits of our work and profit from being part of a larger community?”

He sits back, refusing to mirror her level of emotion. “As understandable as your point of view is, your thoughts come dangerously near treason.”

“I trust your discretion.” A quick smile again, much too confident for the situation.

“We’ll see about that. You should be thinking a lot more about serving your current master than procuring a new one.”

“An arrangement such as the one I propose would of course benefit you as well. Benefit the Seswenna, I mean.”

“How? This is a very average planet, with no spectacular resources to offer. Why would I be interested?”

“Average? Grand Moff, I see that you haven’t heard about our recently discovered ore vein.” She sounds annoyed. “There are also several smaller doonium deposits previously unknown and as yet unregistered.”

He purses his lips. Unregistered, meaning she, or the council, has not seen fit to disclose these resources to their oversector governor for further relay to Coruscant. Their case has to be a solid one for them to dare approach him. He could crush them with a simple call.

“I will not bore you with the details,” she continues. “You’ll find financial forecasts and statistics here.”

He looks at the datacard in her hand. She’s practically laying the future of her planet in his hands. He could accept her offer and bring another profitable planet into his domain for the price of setting up an anti-piracy base. Or, he could report her and put the entire system under a punishment regimen for treason, still under his control, of course. In either case, the current oversector governor, the pompous idiot Moff Theda, has neglected to notice the planetary council’s preparations to defect, thereby forfeiting his claim to rulership. The planet is now his.

He beats down the roar of triumph that rises within him as he takes the evidence and pockets it.

“The matter is a delicate one,” he informs her. “It cannot be solved hastily.”

“I understand, Grand Moff. We will await your decision as loyal subjects of the Empire, whatever fate will be bestowed upon us.”

Her voice trembles a little; she is no fool.

* * *

He waits for her outside the conference room.

“A word in private?”

“Of course.” She interprets his expression after only a moment’s hesitation. “You didn’t know it was me you’d meet.”

“I knew you under another name. You are married?”

“Divorced. It was a mistake. I kept his name for memories’ sake.” Seeing the wrinkle between his eyebrows, she adds, “He is no longer among us. Have you heard of the Bhawan attack, four years ago? No? It doesn’t matter, he was visiting the outpost and fell victim to a pirate raid.”

“My condolences.”

“Thank you. We weren’t a couple at the time, but it’s still a shame. He was a good man, just not suited to me.”

He wants to ask if she’s found another since, one better suited to her. It would be preposterous, so he doesn’t. He has no right to inquire about her lovers even if he feels a sting of jealousy merely at the thought. He would fight these imaginary beings on an instant!

“What are you thinking about with such a severe expression? Not old times, I hope?” She smiles.

“Not at all.” His attempt to smile back feels like a threat, a display of teeth more than an expression of benevolence. He clears his throat, gaining the micropause needed to clear his head. “I recall our past encounters with much fondness.” He smiles again, genuinely this time.

“So do I.” She holds his gaze a second too long, her expression suddenly serene. Then she averts her eyes and the moment is gone. “I’m afraid we’re making ourselves late for the reception.”

He knits his eyebrows and she wrings her hands. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to rush you, Grand Moff. As our guest of honour, you will never be late. Take all the time you need; we won’t begin without you.” Her laugh is nervous, as if she seriously believes she’s overstepped the mark.

He lays a hand on her forearm and she stills immediately. Calmed or filled with fear?

“Don’t worry,” he says, as casually as he can. “This little chat was a welcome reprieve. I hope we get the chance to talk informally again.”

“So do I. Will you find your way to your quarters?”

“Indeed, I will. Goodbye for now, Governor.” With some reluctance, he releases his hold of her.

“See you again soon, Grand Moff.” Her smile is back. He wishes for moment he’d feigned ignorance of the palace’s layout but being treated to the view of her backside as she departs is not a bad compensation for another few minutes of chatting. She has filled out a bit over the years and deliciously so. If he has any say in it, they’ll soon get the opportunity to talk again.

* * *

  
The dinner goes as such affairs usually do. Tolerable food with too much attention to presentation and not enough to content. Endless displays of proof of the alleged cultural prowess of the hosting planet, the performers no doubt talented enough to warrant a more interested audience. Polite conversation, dancing around the subject matter. He lets his mind fill with images of less complicated times, of limbs entwined and honest smiles. There are plenty of chances to study her, none to get her alone.

Not until the very end, when she surprises him by remaining by his side until only servants and cleaning droids are left in the room. 

“The official programme ends here,” she says and continues, as if in a hurry to utter the words before she can change her mind, “I would like to extend a personal offer of hospitality. Would you join me for another drink? My private apartment is this way.”

He stops her; again, the lightest touch makes her turn her full attention to him. She stands there calmly enough, as if extending questionable invitations to the Empire’s highest ranking representatives is an everyday occurrence. Perhaps it is. He is no novice to being the target of this particular brand of politics, even though such offers have become fewer with time. He prides himself on his reputation of being unswayable.

Resting his finger on her cuff, he lets his other hand take hers. He leans over her, as if to deliver the customary kiss in the air, but instead lets his lips graze her throat, just below her ear.

“Yes,” he breathes, noting the tremor that passes through her entire body. He steadies his grip of her fingers, pressing them tighter to hers when she clings to him. “I would like that very much,” he says in a neutral voice. “I’m parched.”

“This way, then,” she says and presses his hand once more before letting go of him. “It’s not far.”

She takes him across the hall and partway down a corridor to an anonymous door that silently glides to the side as she approaches. Another lobby, and another door that opens, but this time to allow entrance to a lavishly furnished set of rooms. The goal is clearly comfort, rather than impressing visitors, but it is elegant nevertheless. Her excellent taste has not deserted her.

“Brandy?”

He nods. It is not his liquor of choice, but they are far from Corellia. He watches her pour the same for herself and throw it back in a fashion that tells him she may be a little more familiar with the drink than is advisable. She adds another finger to the empty glass.

“Stress,” she says apologetically. “I know I shouldn’t, but –” She shrugs. “Anyway, welcome to my home. I’m glad to have you here.” She lifts her glass and he does the same, looking deep into her eyes as is customary. What are they drinking to? A prosperous future? Or reminiscing about the past? He finds it matters less the more he looks at her. And yet, suspicion grates on him.

She puts away her glass, discreetly removing her jacket in the process. The outline of her nipples is visible through her blouse. He licks his lips, then masks it with another sip of the too-sweet liquid. It is beyond him how anyone can over-indulge on something so vile.

“Perhaps you’d like to remove your tunic?”

She is standing in front of him; catching her wrists is a matter of seconds.

“Why am I here?”

She squirms, glances at him, then looks to the floor.

“Are you hoping to sway my decision?” he hisses. “Is that why you attempt to seduce me?”

Her face is stricken; he has hurt her. It is a necessity.

“I want you, Wilhuff.” He meets this statement with silence and she catches his gaze again. “I swear I didn’t plan this,” she continues hurriedly, “but when I saw you so many memories surfaced, and I wanted to have that again, even just a fraction of it. For old times’ sake, will you not stay with me tonight?”

“I am not sentimental.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I just thought… I hoped. I see now that I’m wrong. I won’t bother you anymore –“

“Quiet.” He studies her, quickly losing the fight against the emerging tightness in his trousers.

“I… I don’t talk about politics in here,” she adds in a low voice. “Please trust me. Can you give me that?”

“I’ll give you a lot more,” he growls.

She lurches forward with a suddenness that almost makes it difficult to hold her. Her lips reach his, hot and sweet.

There’s the scent of her, so familiar to him now although a minute ago he’d swear she didn’t have one. Now it mingles with that of the lavender in his breast pocket, crushed between them.

Sounds fill his ear, sighs and whispers; her voice a little louder, a little bolder than before. He likes it.

Throwing cares to the wind, he pushes a knee between hers. Her gasp is raw, needy. She starts grinding against it, whispering his name.

This time, it is his head that shoots forward, his mouth that claims hers. Her released arms lock around his neck, hard, and his hands cup that luscious backside, pulling her against his crotch.

He can’t wait to see her naked, to feel her skin under his hands.

“Off with it,” he demands, pulling at her skirt. “Take off everything. I want to see you.”

He stares at her hungrily as she undresses, devouring each emerging limb with his gaze. Freed of the confinements of formal wear, the full softness of her is his to behold, to grasp, to eventually bury himself in. For now, he controls that need. Rather than acting on the impulse to own her, he removes his own clothes, deliberately exposing her to the sharp angles and wiry muscles that form his body. She is no stranger to it, although his collection of scars has grown since they last met.

“This is new,” she says and continues to trail her lips over a scar of recent years.

He remains still, allowing her to examine, breathing calmly through his nose to bear the gentleness of her touch. It is something he is unaccustomed to these days. Her fingertips glide softly over his back, his shoulders, his neck. All the while she stares at him with wonder in her eyes.

“Where’s the bedroom?”

Rather than replying, she lays her palms on his chest, traces his ribs, scars, nipples. She cups his cheeks and kisses his face. When she reaches his forehead, he’s had enough.

His mouth latches on to a nipple while his hand kneads her other breast. His other arm goes around her back to knead that luscious rump again.

“Wilhuff!”

He continues, buries his nose between her breasts and has to laugh at her violent twitch when he reaches between her thighs.

“It’s in there,” she says, pointing and half turning away from him. “Come.”

For a second, he contemplates throwing her over his shoulder. It is certainly still a possibility.

“Lead the way,” he says instead as he discreetly picks up his trousers with the holster and the hidden knife. Even now, he cannot relax fully.

She takes his hand and, with a giggle that is an echo of past times, rushes through the vast apartment to a room dominated by a large bed. He vaguely registers some other pieces of furniture, of no interest apart from the chair where he puts his garments.

Splayed on the bed, her darkened eyes trained on him, she looks like a feast. Her gaze falls to his crotch and she shifts a little before steering her eyes to his face again. Whatever she sees in his features, her enjoyment appears genuine.

The mattress creaks under his weight when he joins her on the bed. He lies on his side, studying her face as he runs his hands all over her soft skin. She presses herself against his hand with eagerness. She lets him roam where he chooses to, showing with soft sighs how she prefers to be touched. The thought crossed his mind earlier, whether she’d be as pliant in bed as he remembers. He’s delighted to find that this part of her hasn’t changed. She’d not have risen to governor by being all sweet and malleable. Even being clever, she’d have had to play dirty to succeed. Maybe she is doing that even now, but at this point, he no longer cares. He will not let that realisation ruin their pleasure.

Her clit is as sensitive as he remembers it. All he needs to do is brush a fingertip against it and she jerks, pressing her thighs closed. His hand is trapped between them but he still has room to move, causing her to moan gradually louder until she opens her legs again and he can run his fingers over her slit and feel how wet she is for him. 

“Now, let me,” she says softly, turning towards him. She scoots low and when he finally dares to believe what she means to do it is already happening. Her mouth is on his cock and her lips wrap around him and all that soft, wet heat is almost too much.

“Hold,” he demands, a steady grip in her hair.

She pauses, and although her hand and lips are still, her tongue isn’t.

He allows it for some time, breathing through his nose again, tightening his fist in her hair until –

She is fast. Just when he’s reached the brink, she stops time with a steady pinch around the base of his cock. He longs to be in her mouth again and yet, this is for the best.

“Turn around,” he rasps when he can form words again.

On her belly, she looks even more alluring than before. He kneels beside her, feeling his lips part in a grin when she lifts her hips for him.

He plunges in with two fingers, hard. She still likes that, very much. The squelching almost makes him dizzy. She meets his thrusts, melting under his hand, moaning and whining for more.

“Look at you,” he says, “quivering with need. Open for me and begging.”

“Please, Wilhuff,” she mouths among unintelligible sighs and gasps.

He’d torment her longer just to listen to her like this, her voice faint with need as she looks at him with lust through half-lidded eyes.

“I’ll have you now,” he declares as he withdraws his hand. He straddles her outstretched leg and notes with satisfaction how she bends the other a little more. Her buttocks tremble already. It is a matter of seconds to line himself up with her wet cunt and push.

He knows her, and yet he’s not prepared for his own reaction. He has to squeeze his eyes shut and clench his fists not to spill at once. His hips seem to move on their own volition, thrusting desperately to plunge deeper into her, to satisfy her pleas.

He shifts and settles between her legs, nudging her hips into the air. She presses back against him, spearing herself with a deep moan, then repeating the movement with increasing speed and urgency until he doesn’t care to hold back any longer.

“You’re mine now,” he grunts through his teeth as the force of his thrusts push her into the mattress.

It goes on and on until she’s one moaning, thrashing mess and he’s likely the same and he so doesn’t care. He still cannot remember her bloody name, but it feels glorious all the same and fuck politics and resources and rebels and war – he’d throw all of that overboard if he could feel like this again!

* * *

In the morning, they don’t meet until she sees him off. Her entourage is there as well, although at a distance.

“Goodbye, Wilhuff.”

He stiffens.

“You still don’t remember my name. That’s fine.” She smiles, again.

“I have to admit it continues to elude me, Governor.” He lowers his voice. “However, my memory of you yourself is unclouded and now you’ve given me even more to remember.”

She blushes, but her voice is as steady as her gaze. “I will not deny that our previous association is what made me bold enough to suggest this step. Believe me, it wasn’t done on a whim. We really have hit a wall in the planet’s development.”

“I thank you for your hospitality,” he says loud enough to be heard by the entire council. He takes her fingers, lifts her hand to his mouth and places a kiss there as he bows slightly. “I greatly appreciated such a welcome. I will expect the same heartfelt treatment next time, should your offer be accepted.”

“And you will receive it.” She presses his hand before releasing it. “The figures are sound,” she insists. “I would not have requested a meeting otherwise.” If she aims to sound emotionally indifferent, she only half succeeds.

Leaving, he still isn’t sure whether he’s gained a planet or fallen victim to a very bold seduction scheme. The datacard burning in his pocket is a matter for his analysts now; he’ll come back to the issue once they’ve had their say on it. Whatever their verdict, he’s already decided the future handling of the issue will require a visit to the planet’s governor. As he adjusts his trousers, he banishes further thoughts along that path. For now, other things are on the forefront of his mind – he has a construction to oversee and, with Director Krennic in charge, a possible disaster to prevent.

“Set course for Geonosis,” he instructs as he enters his ship. “I’ll take the controls.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading :-)


End file.
